


I'll Lie Here and Burn

by zoologygorl



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, First Love, Original Female Character - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:14:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29100849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoologygorl/pseuds/zoologygorl
Summary: A short story of a princess betrayed.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	I'll Lie Here and Burn

Gold and gods. The looming statues bent and twisted above - leering, hissing. The glint of the dying sun illuminated their faces. Too late they whispered. Too late. 

It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. The horses were saddled, hidden in the shadows of the woods beyond the palace. The bags stashed in the crook of a tree in the clearing where you two met. A final dusk and then you were to ride beyond the reach of the palace, a ship lying in wait at the harbor to sail to the other end of the world. There, you would be safe, far beyond those who would fill the streets with blood to prevent your prince from assuming the throne. He had confided in his knowledge of such a plot a moon ago, of his father who did horrid things behind closed doors to the women of the court. That is why they avoided him, he explained. His father’s reputation tainted their vision of him. He was good, he was kind, and at your insistence he began gathering allies in the court. You passed the letters under doors, when no one else dare wander the halls of the palace, fearful of the spirits and gods observing with their stone eyes. 

The bells had begun ringing just as you could taste the crisp of the woods. The trees stopped swaying and all you could hear was blood rushing in your ears. You knew what those tolls signified. As you spun you could begin to see the curl of darkness raising from walls. Your prince. Your prince was still in the palace. 

Slipping and sliding in the mud, pins lost their grip in your hair as you struggled to remain upright. You pressed against the crowds on the palace steps, losing sight of their faces and pushed your way through the merchants scrambling to snatch up their goods. A cart tipped as you slammed into it and a guard made his way towards you, one hand snaking up to find his sword. His mouth opened as a flicker of recognition crossed his eyes before he was jostled and almost run down by a panicked horse. A merchant grabbed hold of the lead, bowing with apologies spilling from his lips. By the time the guard turned back you were gone, racing along the stone alleys, praying you would reach your prince in time. 

Gold lining glinted along the halls and the only sounds were your ragged breaths and the toll of the bells which kept pace with your advancement towards the main throne room. Maybe he was alive, maybe they hadn’t won. Maybe there was still time to escape this world and build a new one just for the two of you. 

You had arrived in this world as a prisoner, though the title made pretty with words of peace. Thrown into this court with their snaking words and funny lilt. The eyes which tracked your movements glimmering with suspicion and hate. 

You were here as a prisoner. A gift of a treaty made long ago to exchange a woman from the two kingdom’s courts each generation. A way to solidify an understanding between the kingdoms. You were lower your eyes and spread your legs to the richest man who would have a foreigner. Produce heirs and nothing more, for then your children could live in a world which did not know the horrors of the war fought just years ago. This was your penance for your father’s crimes. 

Love was a term used by those who did not know this world; who lived with fairies or witches or some other unnatural thing and knew not of the darkness of souls. You were given as a gift of flesh, chosen for your strong heritage and successful line of birthers. Love was not the goal, nor was it wise to suggest. But even now, you could not recalled where that slavery had ended and a new light upon your captivity had begun. His voice was warm, and in your hesitation and curiosity you raised your eyes to meet his. You were lost, and then you were found. 

One sleepless night, as the confines of a strange castle choked you, you found the gardens and burst loudly into the maze of flowers. There you wandered until you settled upon a settlement of lilies. They reminded you of your mother and you had been lost in their scent until you realized you were not the only midnight wander in the gardens. His eyes had softened at the sight of you and you shared secrets, truths, and dreams under the moon everynight for months. 

This land was cold, and dreary, and constantly filled with rolling fog - but he was warm. He was your sun and light and air. You were his confidant, his balancer, and love. He listened to your whispered stories and hushed retellings of your favorite childhood memories. As the months rolled on, your laugh was smothered by his lips and your hands explored each other in the darkness of the woods. 

Live. You pleaded with the gods. Let him live. 

Smoke curled from the hallways and you choked on the sudden lack of air. Golden gods and servants marked by gold collars wound around you, carrying precious goods away from the inner palace. Shouts and yells began getting louder as you neared the throne room and you shrunk back against the walls as a new wave of guards spun around the corner. You needn’t have bothered - dirty and messed up as you were, you were of no importance in comparison to the lines of water buckets being passed down the halls. 

Now you could see clearly what the panicked court already knew. The throne room had been set on fire, and you were caught by a lady’s maid who sobbed between her words. The doors had just burst, she said, the first had caught in the middle of a meeting and exploded from within the closed doors. The screams of the dying crushed under the collapsing roof. Your eyes burned as you entered the room. On the steps to the throne, charred bodies remained, twisted and haunted in their last throes of life. You gagged on the stench of the dead, but forced yourself to step closer towards the embers of their flesh. Not him. Please, not him. 

Water began soaking your bare feet as more and more buckets of water drenched the meandering flames A glance down revealed a pool of red. You knew not when your shoes had been lost. Perhaps in the stickiness of the mud. Perhaps you had thrown them off when their tearing was slowing you down. Perhaps you were never wearing shoes to begin with.

It did not matter. You recognized these bodies. The jewelry which melted from the charred fingers. The necklaces which littered the steps, clasps broken by writhing hands. 

He was here. That’s his voice you hear, and you twist as the last of the flames are smothered by the guards with the buckets. Your dress is torn and face covered in soot. Your hands sting from when you must have fallen. 

But he’s here. Standing in front of you. 

He’s smiling. 

But it’s not your prince. Your prince is gentle. Your prince is kind. Your prince does not have this glint in his eyes, the brightness of a man turned mad. 

You still haven’t taken a full breath since entering the palace, and you sink to your knees, choking again on the taste of burnt flesh. 

He’s above you, and he raises his hand to you. But it’s wrong. There is an extra ring upon his adorned hands. The ring of his father, gold and embellished with the maw of a dragon, gasping back towards his hand, the tail snaking around his finger. He should not have this ring. He should have been making pretty excuses, politely declining a dance before sneaking along the shadows out into the grounds and then into the woods to you. 

On your knees, you begin to shake. The realization of a year’s deception catching up to you. You raise your chin and lean back to meet him in the eye. You want to see his face before you’re done.

A clever man would have been subtle. A wicked man would have had more grace. But your prince was not of this world. He existed beyond the ties of mortality. 

Even now, his guard stood resolute- accepting the shake of his head, the tiny frown and well-practiced shake of the hands. His performance was not yet complete. He gestured and slicked back his hair in feinted grief before you were dragged away, roughly handled and dragged screaming down the halls. 

Your blood. Their blood. He spoke beautifully of your plot to kill the court before escaping home. As the crown settled upon his head he met your eyes when his hand raised, preparing the executioner to bring the axe to the sky. He winked and you knew that there had never been a crowd of hating courtisans. They did not whisper because they plotted and hated and wished you ill. They feared the prince’s attentions, his touch known to be rough and his eyes devoid of warmth. They feared when hushed conversations featured their prince’s new toy. That’s all you were. That’s all you ever were and ever will be. The perfect cover, a prince manipulated by the foreigner with her odd dress and dialect. She hated from the moment she was exchanged and brought to this land. She seduced their prince and burned those who would prevent her ascent to queen. Now, he was revered, a prince who discovered a plot to ruin his kingdom. He would return her body in pieces to her home before he brought his army and razed her towns, her fields, the children who would grow to be just as grotesque and deceiving. 

Never again would the kingdom allow this witch’s people to breathe the same air. Their worth spoilt, they would be hunted down for the deception. 

He nodded and your head rolled towards him. His grip on the sides of his throne tightened and he allowed his gaze to sweep across the crowds. His palace was rebuilt, pyres for the dead lit and sent out to sea many days ago. No one dared to question how the bodies were found, how the fire had begun, or how he had learnt of this plot. 

He was their king, shining, an example of righteousness in the face of a witch who weaved lies. 

Some nights, if one were quiet, they could catch the king sneaking into the gardens; when the fog was thick and the moonlight dulled by clouds. He would return hours later, a lilly in hand.


End file.
